Pages

News

News: My thoughts are clouds I cannot fathom into pastries.

--1 June 2018--

Quote: Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest of hearts. --Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

The Fellowship

November 6, 2018

A red dawn spilled across the distant
mountain range like blood on a battlefield. Jace flattened his pale lips in a
grimace and snapped the moth-eaten curtains shut. The squeak of booted heels
echoed against the marbled floor as he turned, pacing back to the giant
obsidian table that stretched across the room.
Thirty pairs of eyes, ringed with purpled bruises, dark shadows, and
edged with dispair, flicked up to meet his.

“It’s about as dead as Halovan’s Helm outside.”
Jace unzipped his black leather jacket, shrugging out of it before laying it
across the back of his chair at the head of the table, “Our best suit of action
would be to move our men through the tunnels as soon as possible. We can
transit the warcraft and hellhogs tonight under cover of darkness,” he paused,
“although I think the Council will predict that move.”

A shallow cough interrupted him. Elder
Donovan, one of several forefront Rebel members, spit a toothpick onto the
table and rubbed at his gritty eyes with greasy fingers.

“It isn’t enough.”

Jace turned, dark eyes narrowing ominously,
“What do you mean it isn’t enough? It has to be enough.” His jaw jutted forward
as the blue-black veins on his pale white neck pulsed angrily, “We have
hundreds of lives dependent on this
war council. We must be absolutely certain it is enough. This is why we are here, Elder. We have no other option.”

The caustic snap of Jace’s voice, laced with
a poisonous expectation that warned of the very real possibility of death,
silenced the sounds of fidgeting.

Elder Donovan raised his gaze from the
toothpick to meet the Rebel leader, “Of course – but we all know it won’t be.
There’s enough husked skinbags out there on the plains to make ourselves a new
canvas for a full-sized airship. Moving hundreds of people is a death-sentence.
Might as well surrender ourselves to the—”

“Donovan,” the woman beside him lay her
wrinkled hand on his arm. He shrugged her off,

“And on top of that, we have dangerously low
fuel reserves. Why bother with the warcraft and hellhogs in the first place
when we know we won’t have enough to last.”

Jace ground his teeth and stood back, running
calloused hands through a shock of dark, ragged hair. The distant rumble of a
wall collapsing guttered against the hum of the emergency generators.

“I know.” Jace conceded, “I know, but we have
to do our best with what we have. If we don’t move our equipment out they’ll
take it. And I hate to raze such fine engineering, which must be done if we
choose to leave it all behind.”

“Raze or regret,” a voice piped from further
down the table.

“Raze or regret.” Jace nodded and exhaled,
“What is our consensus? Do we attempt to bring the craft with us or leave it
here?”

Several heartbeats passed before a clear
voice loudly called, “Raze!”

The rest of the table nodded as the word was
muttered and coughed from more than a dozen chemically-damaged lungs. Jace
frowned, hands clenched tight behind his back,

“Very well then. Raze it is, although I —”

The hallway door smacked open with a vibrant
snap and a tall, lithe female in assassins black stepped into the room. Two men
flanked her, their automatic weapons were strapped tightly across broad backs.

“Ma’am you can’t be in here.” A Rebel ranger
from a seat nearest the door stood to intercept the trio.

The newcomer held up a gloved hand as she
raised the other to pull down her mask, exposing a face stained with ash, dust,
and rusted blood.

“Don’t bother with your formalities, ranger.”
Her voice was sharp and lethal, “I can be wheresoever I please.”

Several rebel members had started to murmur
and rise from their seats. The sound of safeties unlatching clinked around the
table. Jace glared at the intruder as he stepped forward,

“Shall I have you arrested? You have no place
here, particularly unannounced. You need to leave.”

The assassin smirked and drew a fold of paper
from a pocket, “I think you’ll reconsider that statement after you read this.”

The tension in the room roiled as it became
obvious that the seal of the Council had been seared onto the message.

“How did you get in here?” Jace asked, having
now made his way within several meters of the newcomers. They held their place
with a solid assurance and calm that only befits an enemy with the foreknowledge
that they have their prey in a bind.

“Cassandra,” the leader extended the message,
“I think you’ll be thankful I come with this news.”

Jace took the message and broke the seal.

“What if it’s poisoned?!” someone shouted.

“Then their highly trained messenger is dead
as well.” Jace looked up at Cassandra momentarily before returning his eyes to
the paper.

He skimmed the note. A muscle in his jaw
ticked in time with the watch on Elder Donovan’s gaunt wrist.

The room hushed enough for the pulsing buzz
of electricity in the overhead lights to sound nearly deafening. Jace folded
the message shut and reached into the pocket of his pants, withdrawing a
lighter. He flicked it once, twice, and held the flame to the parchment until
only ash floated before his feet.

The room was still – a staggered breath held
before the exhaled scream. Jace looked up at Cassandra.

“Very well.” He nodded before turning to the
room of leaders, “We have a new plan.”

Follow by Email

Pirates On Deck

Follow Me!

Netgalley

Your Host: Squeaks

I'm a PhD candidate in the field of neuromuscular physiology, but in my spare time I'm a fiction/fantasy writer and a poet. I also have a secret infatuation with Victorian literature.
I'm a Christian and proud of it!
I enjoy mountain climbing and sports + I love horses and riding bareback. I'm the oldest (an overgrown kid at this point) in a family of 4 (1 tiny 6'7" sibling) and adore my little clan with much ferocity. We all love cats and cows.